


He Kept the Hotel Key

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Intimacy, M/M, Marriage, Memories, Mentions of Abby - Freeform, Mentions of Chris - Freeform, Morning After, Moving In Together, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: He’s breaking the rules, he knows it. They’re not supposed to have any evidence of what they’ve been doing, no tangible proof that they’re hooking up. And Buck understands that, understands how quickly everything could unravel if someone asked him why he’s got a dark pink hotel key tucked away in his wallet.But he needs this.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 382





	He Kept the Hotel Key

**Author's Note:**

> If Old Dominion could leave my ideas alone, that'd be great. But also, this was some of the most fun I've ever had pushing my limits as a writer. Enjoy!

Buck pulls his jeans over his thighs, focusing intently on the way his fingers push the buttons through the gaps in the fabric. It’s not that he needs to watch himself button the fly, but there’s only so many places for him to look, and he sure can’t let Eddie catch him watching as he leans over and pulls his wallet out of the nightstand drawer. 

It’s a few months now, that they’ve been sleeping together, once a week or so, in an assortment of nondescript hotel rooms on the outskirts of LA. The routine is the same every time, a careful dance to avoid being noticed and keep themselves from building too much attachment to one another. 

Someone sends an email, makes sure there won’t be a text notification to blow their cover, and books the cheapest room he can find in a half-decent part of town. They don’t need full-service with all the bells and whistles, but Buck hates to think about having to admit that he and Eddie came down with matching cases of bedbug bites from hooking up with each other at a seedy motel. 

They never go the same hotel twice, but Buck is hard-pressed to find the differences in the cookie-cutter rooms. One king-sized bed, with stiff white sheets and a scratchy comforter. Ice bucket on the table – not that they ever use it – uncomfortable wooden chairs and plastic-wrapped foam coffee cups. Half of the rooms still have tube TVs taking up a third of the space, and they’ve all got interchangeable, blandly inoffensive art on the walls. 

None of those details matter, though, when Buck is pushing Eddie back into the mattress, when Eddie rolls him over and slides down until their hips knock together, when there’s sweat and sex building thick in the air until the tension breaks and they come down from the high they built together. 

They don’t watch each other, not during this part. Everything up until now is fair game, watching is half the fun, but this? When the energy between them has died down and they’re preparing to go their separate ways? They don’t watch this. 

In fact, they’re both so careful not to look at each other that it’s almost more uncomfortable than it would be if he and Eddie just gotten dressed together. 

But it’s one of the rules, one of their unwritten codes for doing this. If he and Eddie are going to hook up, there won’t be any strings attached. They’re still best friends, still partners at work, but this part of their relationship won’t bleed into anything else. 

Buck stares at the blotchy, abstract art hanging on the wall of today's hotel room and wonders why, exactly, getting dressed to leave somehow feels like the most intimate part of this. 

He thinks back to the way Eddie’s fingers burned red-hot trails up and down his body, everywhere he touched, like the burns would show for days. Eddie’s hands, wrapped tight around Buck’s arms, pressing into his chest while Eddie rides him. It’s unlike anything Buck has ever felt before, how perfectly he and Eddie fit together, like their bodies were made for each other. 

He wishes it were true, wishes they were really meant to be together. He thinks about it every time he’s looking for a new place for Eddie to meet him at, how he’d give everything he has to be Eddie’s _everything,_ the center of his whole world – next to Chris, of course – just like Eddie is for him. 

But he tries not to let himself go down that rabbit hole too often, get his hopes too high. Buck will gladly take whatever parts of himself Eddie is willing to give, and he doesn’t want to begrudge him the rest. 

It can be enough for him to know how tight Eddie feels around him, the way he arches his back and clenches around Buck when he tries to pull out. He can appreciate the way Eddie makes his legs shake with the effort he needs to hold himself up as the strongest orgasms of his life tear through his body, how he’s seen the look on Eddie’s face as he comes apart beneath Buck. 

Buck doesn’t need anything more than that, as much as he’d like to have it. 

As long as he can have a few afternoons here and there, in motels carefully chosen to be outside the 118’s jurisdiction, just in case something happens nearby. 

The last thing they’d need is for Bobby or Chim or Hen to recognize their cars out front of the hotel when they’re responding to some other call. 

They don’t need to be worried about that when Eddie’s fingernails are digging little half-moons into Buck’s shoulders. In that moment, all Buck wanted to focus on – all he’d been able to focus on – were the places where he and Eddie were connected, how it felt like electricity running between them. He’d committed the feeling to memory, has called it back to the front of his mind on many occasions since. The sting of Eddie’s nails had kept him grounded, reminded him that this arrangement isn’t permanent, that he’s almost guaranteed to get hurt along the way. 

But it’ll be worth it, he thinks, just for getting to know this side of Eddie. 

Because he knows _so much_ about Eddie now, things he’d never imagined he’d get to learn, not even in his wildest, hottest fantasies. 

There’s no world in which Buck could have predicted how perfect it would feel to have Eddie nip playfully at his earlobe while he thrusts in and out of his ass. The first time he’d done it, Buck had been surprised. He hadn’t expected Eddie to be much of a biter, hadn’t expected that he’d be so turned on by the tiny jolt of pain. When his hips stuttered, when he stopped moving for just a split second, Eddie had kissed the spot right behind where he'd bitten and laved his tongue across the outer edge of Buck’s ears. 

He’d never thought of his own ears as particularly sexy before, but it had only taken a couple of rendezvous for Eddie to prove him wrong. 

It hasn’t all been rough and tumble, though. Some days, they move slower, take their time with each other. Those are the hardest for Buck to recover from; bruises heal faster than heartache. 

It’s easy for him to write off the furious, almost aggressive sex, the times when he and Eddie _fuck_. He can chalk it up to a couple of guys burning off some pent-up energy, using each other’s bodies as a means to an end. 

But there’s no such explanation for the times when Eddie’s fingers tangle in Buck’s hair, not pulling, just holding on while he bounces up and down on Buck’s lap, both of them hoping the flimsy wooden chair can withstand what they’re putting it though. Every so often, he’ll lean down, tipping Buck’s head back for a messy kiss, more breathing heavily into each other’s mouths than actual kissing. It’s the closest Eddie comes to taking control, a rare show of assertiveness instead of letting Buck lead the way. 

Or the slow nights when they’re lying together on top of the sheets, Buck wrapped around Eddie from behind and rocking in and out of his body. Those times, they hardly move at all, clinging to one another desperately as they seek out any and every point of connection they can find. Buck will let himself drag his hands up and down Eddie’s torso, fingers exploring, twisting, flitting across the dips in his abs, his nipples hardened into tight nubs at the center of his pecs. 

There’s never any discussion about it, no need to talk about what they’re looking for when they get together. Somehow, they always know, they’re always on the same page, wanting the same thing and moving like their bodies are connected by more than just the semi-regular sex they’re having. 

Sometimes it feels like the universe is rubbing it in Buck’s face, letting him fall completely head over heels for his best friend _and_ have sex with him, but never at the same time. 

That’s the part that kills Buck a little bit every time: he can fuck Eddie, even make love to him sometimes, but he can’t _be in love_ with him. 

He can’t be in love with the way Eddie looks as he crosses the room, doesn’t look behind him as he reaches for the doorknob. Because Buck knows what comes next. 

Eddie will open the door, walk out of the room, walk away from Buck and never look back. Sure, he’ll text him in half an hour or so, let Buck know that he made it home OK. But he never looks back on this part, never lets the moment linger when they both know it’s reaching its end. 

So Buck takes a breath and steels himself for what he knows is coming, the way that things will go back to normal until the next set of sheets in the next hotel room. 

But Eddie stops this time, turns around right as Buck steps up behind him. Buck starts to step back, but before he can, Eddie’s fingers are twisted into the front of his shirt, pulling the fabric into a fist and yanking Buck toward him. 

They’ve never kissed goodbye before, and it’s the only thing Buck can focus on. This isn’t in the rules, expressly allowed or forbidden, but he’s pretty sure it crosses a few lines. 

He can’t say for sure, given how fuzzy the lines have become in his own mind, but this doesn’t feel even remotely like the “hit it and quit it” routine they’ve developed over the last few months. There’s something new to this, even compared to other kisses they've exchanged as they roll across a mattress. 

It’s heated as much as it’s hot, Eddie pulling Buck’s bottom lip between his own to suck on it gently as he pulls Buck even closer toward him. His mouth opens, granting Eddie access and further intensifying the moment, adding more sparks to the air surrounding them. 

If Buck hadn’t been here all afternoon, didn’t know what they’d just finished, he’d swear that Eddie was trying to start something. 

But before he can do anything about it, before he can push them both any further, Eddie breaks the kiss and pushes himself away from Buck. He doesn’t let go of the shirt right away, and he’s breathing hard as he watches Buck through half-closed eyes, but he’s putting space between them again and Buck can feel the way his heart is pounding in his chest. 

He’s sure Eddie can feel it too, is only further convinced by they way he lets go of the shirt and runs his hand across Buck’s chest to smooth the wrinkles out of the fabric. 

Buck still hasn’t caught his breath when Eddie puts his hand on the knob and winks at him. 

“See you at work.” 

Then the door opens and he’s gone, leaving Buck alone in the room, chest heaving and mind racing. 

He takes another deep breath and walks backwards, just a few steps further into the room, until he’s even with the table. His head doesn’t turn as he reaches out to grope across the surface until he finds the plastic keycard and slides it into his pocket. 

He’s breaking the rules, he knows it. They’re not supposed to have any evidence of what they’ve been doing, no tangible proof that they’re hooking up. And Buck understands that, understands how quickly everything could unravel if someone asked him why he’s got a dark pink hotel key tucked away in his wallet. 

But he needs this. He can’t explain it, can’t even justify to himself why he does this every time, but he does. Eddie always leaves first, and Buck always reaches back to keep one of the room keys. He needs it like he needs air, like he needs _Eddie,_ and really, who is he to deny himself something he needs in such a primal, basic way? 

Besides, there’s no way to connect the plastic key card back to Eddie, probably a million assumptions people would make before anyone landed on “sleeping with your best friend,” any one of which would make more sense than the truth. 

So he lets himself have it, focuses on the feeling of the card in his pocket, how he can tell exactly where it sits because the plastic feels like it’s burning into his skin, just like Eddie’s fingers burned into his skin not 20 minutes ago. 

It’s just enough of a distraction for him to survive the next step. This part is always almost as hard as watching Eddie leave, the moment when Buck has to step into the hallway and let the door close on the best thing he’s ever felt. 

He knows he has to leave, though, can’t stay alone in this hotel room forever, doesn’t even have a change of clothes for tomorrow. And staying the night would only hurt worse, sleeping on one side of the bed where he and Eddie had laid together, so he makes himself pull the door open and walk through it. 

His hand finds its way into his pocket as the elevator door slides closed; of its own volition, it wraps around the card and holds on tight until he’s left through a side door and has to turn the key in the ignition of his Jeep. 

The key burns through the fabric of his pants until he gets home and slides it onto the stack with a couple dozen others just like it. 

And that’s the last time Buck lets himself think about it until the next email notification pings in his inbox. 

* * *

They’ve been dating almost two years when Eddie proposes to Buck, the illicit hookups so far in the past that he hardly ever thinks about them. 

He’d much rather think about all the ways he has Buck now, the indelible mark he’s left on Eddie’s life, how he’d never want to change a thing about it, even if he could. 

After all, it’s that commitment that has him sitting on the floor of Buck’s closet, surrounded by boxes on a sunny Saturday afternoon. They’re trying to get the loft emptied out tonight, hoping to be ready tomorrow when Bobby shows up with the little trailer to carry all of Buck’s belongings across town to Eddie’s house. 

Their house, now, he thinks, remembering fondly the way Buck’s entire face had lit up when Eddie had said that they should probably live together, seeing that they’re engaged now and everything. 

He watches Buck, taping across the top of a box and writing SHIRTS, CASUAL on the side in big block letters. He’s so meticulous about the whole thing, determined not to lose track of anything in the few miles between where he is now and where he’s going. 

Eddie loves it, loves _him,_ can’t help the smile that threatens to split his face in two as he reaches for the next box and flips the lid back. 

It’s not clothes, that much is immediately obvious. He slides the top layer of movie tickets and old drivers’ licenses aside and looks a little deeper. 

He doesn't feel bad for prying, knows that Buck had asked him to help go through the boxes and see what’s inside of everything, since he hasn’t touched some of them since he’d moved in four and a half year ago. 

Four and a half years that feel like an entire lifetime. 

Eddie reaches into the box and pulls out a picture. It’s Buck and Maddie, younger versions of themselves by probably two decades, if he has to guess. She’s standing behind him, bent down far enough to rest her chin on the top of his head. Her hands are wrapped around his waist, and he can tell from the way her fingers are frozen in time that she’s tickling his sides. Buck can’t be older than 10, maybe even a little younger, which would put Maddie someone around her early 20s. They’re both smiling, laughing at whoever’s holding the camera. 

He flips the photograph over, finds a caption written on the back in a child’s clumsy handwriting. 

_Me and Maddie: world’s best sister._

It makes him smile, a part of him longing to hear from his own sisters again, even though they touch base every week or two. Maybe he’ll call them tonight, he thinks as he puts the picture down carefully in the lid of the box, ask how his niece and nephews are doing. 

The next item is a little rubber frog; Eddie recognizes it from the day he and Buck took Chris to the arcade. It’s bright green and squishy, but otherwise unremarkable, so Eddie puts it back; he knows Buck wouldn’t ever get rid of something Christopher gave him, even if the collection took over the entire house (which is looking more and more possible, especially because Buck is moving into their home, and Chris is in a watercolors phase right now). 

Next to the frog is a tri-folded piece of paper, which unfolds to reveal an LAFD acceptance letter dated seven years earlier. He’s always known how much Buck’s job means to him, knows there were a few years where it felt like all he had. But Buck hasn’t ever let on that it was such a defining part of his life from literally Day One. 

Eddie’s picturing a younger version of Buck, trying to decide how much he’s aged in the last seven years (very little, save a couple dozen new scars), thinking about how he might have looked when he opened the envelope, found out that he’d earned the chance to start his life over in Los Angeles. 

He doesn’t know who Buck would have called to celebrate the news, and it hurts a little bit, the third-party sting of knowing that Buck went so many years without people in his corner, people to call with the best news of his life. 

But there’s no time to dwell on that today, not when so much has changed since then. Now, Buck has his people, a whole group of friends-turned-family who will drop anything if he needs them. And it shows, when Eddie trades the letter for a hospital bracelet dated 2019, remembers how everyone spent two weeks taking shifts in Buck’s little curtained-off room so he’d never be there alone. 

Eddie is almost at the bottom of the little box now, as he puts the bracelet down and picks up a sheet of cardstock printed with a picture of an elderly woman with reddish-blonde hair. _Patricia Clark,_ it’s embossed underneath the image, along with a set of dates and a Bible verse Eddie recognizes as Psalm 23. He flips it over, reads the biography on the back as far as “preceded in death by her husband Donald, and survived by her daughter Abigail,” before he makes himself put the prayer card down. 

It makes sense that he’d have something from his relationship with Abby in here, nestled among other things that are clearly precious to him. Eddie knows that she was Buck’s first real relationship, and he’s never harbored any jealously toward her. But he can’t think about it for too long, or he remembers how Buck’s talked about her leaving, stringing him along for the better part of a year before he was able to stand on his feet again. 

He can’t stand to think of anyone taking advantage of Buck like that, knowing how wonderful and sweet he is, and just walking out of his life without so much as a goodbye. 

But it doesn’t bother Buck, not anymore, so Eddie tries not to waste his own energy on it either. Instead, he reaches for the last item in the box, a stack of plastic cards rubber banded together. There’s maybe three dozen of them, but Eddie can’t tell what they are; all he can see is the magnetic strip running down the back of the last card in the stack. 

He picks it up and carefully unwinds the rubber band, riffling through to see what the pile contains. 

It’s hotel key cards, from all different chains. Eddie doesn’t travel much, but even he can tell that Buck doesn’t seem to be one for brand loyalty, probably staying wherever was cheapest or most convenient. 

There’s not a pattern to the cards, at least not one that Eddie can pick out, but he’s careful to keep them in order anyway. If Buck has them stacked like this, carefully held together and tucked into a box with other special, personal things, there must be a reason for it. 

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie waits for him to look up from the pile of pants he’s carefully folding into his suitcase. “What’re these from?” 

Buck leans forward to see what Eddie’s holding up, and he fans the cards out between his hands, curious about what his answer may be. 

But Buck doesn’t answer. He sees the keys in Eddie’s hand, and his eyes go wide, but he doesn’t answer. 

For a brief second, Eddie wonders what Buck is hiding from him, why he’s going to hotels all the time and keeping the key cards. But when he looks a little closer, Buck doesn’t look guilty. He’s always worn his heart right smack in the middle of his forehead, and Eddie would know if he’d caught Buck in anything worth worrying about. Rather, he looks embarrassed, like he didn’t want Eddie to know he had a stack of hotel key cards hidden away at the top of his closet. 

“Buck?” 

“I … I know, OK?” His face is turning red, and he’s staring at the wall behind Eddie’s ear, a surefire tell that he’s nervous about whatever he’s about to say. “I know we weren’t supposed to have anything from back then. That … that was the whole point of the hotels and everything. Don't get attached. But I did. I-I was, before that even started. So I kept them. Every … every one.” 

As soon as he’s pushed the last words out of his mouth, Buck looks down again, goes back to folding his jeans with a sharp focus. Eddie doesn’t push him any further, lowers the stack of cards and shuffles through them again as the memories come back to him. 

The motel right off the highway in Glendale, where Buck’s skin was cool under his fingers, even as the room around them heated up. As _they_ heated it up, with the friction from their bodies and the white-hot need bleeding out of them with every touch. Everything around him burned, but Buck was cool, refreshing in a way that kept pulling Eddie back to him. With every searing kiss they exchanged, Buck grew hotter, wracking the space around them with the way he shivered under Eddie’s tender ministrations. 

That was one of the first nights they’d spent together, the key card right at the top of the stack. Down a few more, Eddie feels his body tense up again. 

It’s almost like he can still feel Buck pushing his fingers into Eddie for the first time, stretching him open. The pain had burned in the best way, tearing Eddie in half and leaving his edges raw, open and exposed for Buck to explore. 

Eddie had known almost right away that he was going to end up addicted to the feeling, how Buck was inside and around and _everywhere_ as he pushed into Eddie. His legs were wrapped around Buck’s waist, sliding down just far enough that he could feel Buck vibrating with want. He’d still been careful, though, even as Eddie had be gged him for faster, harder, _more,_ pushing back against his own desires to make sure Eddie was taken care of. Even if what he wanted wasn’t what he needed, Buck always, always took care of Eddie first. 

Always takes care of Eddie first, if he’s being honest. Even now, everything Buck does, he’s doing it for Eddie, for his family. It’s unlike anyone has ever taken care of Eddie before, putting his needs first, giving and giving without expecting anything in return. 

Not that Eddie doesn’t give as good as he gets with Buck. 

He sides a few more keys off of the stack and another memory floats forward, another hookup in another hotel, he and Buck rolling back and forth, wrestling for the control. Usually Eddie had been happy to let Buck take over, and he can’t remember why this time was any different, but he _doe_ _s_ remember the way it felt when he finally gave in. He’d ended up sitting on Buck’s lap, but he’d hardly call it ‘riding’ for the way that Buck had done all the work. 

Eddie had tried to lift himself up and down, but Buck’s grasp on his hips was too tight, holding him in place while he rocked into him tenderly (it’s always tender with Buck; even when Eddie ends up with finger-spaced bruises on his sides, bite marks in his shoulders, he’s always left feeling cherished and valuable and _seen._

That’s part of what made the leaving so hard, way back when). 

But Buck was holding Eddie down, leaving him little choice but to wrap his hands around Buck’s shoulders and enjoy the ride. He remembers after, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching Buck get dressed, seeing the crisp little half-moons he’d left in his skin, tiny bubbles of blood sitting on the surface of a few of them. 

He’d been almost overcome with the urge to apologize for breaking skin, marring the smooth expanse of Buck’s back, but to do that would have been to acknowledge that he’d been watching Buck dress, and that’s something they’d both carefully avoided since the very first time they’d met each other like this. 

So he kept his mouth closed, thought back to how incredible it had felt, how Buck had seemed to get his own fill of pleasure, snapped his hips up a little harder, a little faster when Eddie squeezed tighter. He’d never be able to hurt Buck like that intentionally – even now, he can’t knowingly cause his fiancé any pain – but sometimes the physical sensations get the better of him, and he loses himself in the moment, loses himself in Buck. 

Eddie doesn’t let himself get lost in it now, though, moves onto the next key and a few more after that. 

He’s about to flip past another one, let the dark green plastic fall from one hand to the other, but instead he stops and runs his thumb along the edges of the card. 

He’s on top of Buck in this memory too, straddled across his belly and leaning forward to reach where his head rests on the too-fluffy pillows. They’re both bare-chested, but otherwise still fully dressed, rutting their hips together while they kiss and bite at each other’s lips. It’s hot, hotter than it should be given how much further they’ve gone in the past, but Eddie is pretty sure he’d stay in this moment forever if he could. Buck’s got a finger wound into the belt loop at the back of his jeans, his thumb teasing in and out of the waistband to rub gently at the top of Eddie’s tailbone. Every time Buck presses down, Eddie grinds his hips forward, chasing the sensations assaulting him from every direction. 

There’s no way Eddie can compete with how Buck is making him feel, nothing he can reach from where he is now that can even come close to how incredible this is, but he wants to try anyway. 

So he pulls Buck’s bottom lip between his teeth, waits for the whimper he knows will come, then releases it and starts mouthing his way across Buck’s jawline. He’s careful not to leave any marks, knows that would break every rule they’ve made for themselves, but Buck’s skin feels so good in his mouth. He’s breathing heavily underneath Eddie, and his usually soft and smooth skin is freckled with the beginnings of stubble breaking the surface. 

It’s intoxicating, feeling all of the ways he and Buck are alike, so completely different from any of the women he’d slept with before. Grinding against each other like this feels a little bit like being a 13-year-old back in his parent’s basement, but there’s a sharp contrast in the way that Buck is all muscle and hard planes. 

He works his way over Buck’s face, pressing his nose into the soft divot behind his ear and sucking the earlobe into his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and Buck’s whole body draws tight, his hips stuttering for a moment when his breath catches in his lungs. Eddie feels the tiny hiccup of air and turns his head just far enough to nip at the skin behind his ear and laves his tongue across the spot to soothe away the sting. 

Buck’s free hand comes up to grasp at Eddie’s hair, holding him in place and writhing around as he falls apart underneath him. 

The specificity of that moment fades, and the next several appear as flashes of color behind Eddie’s eyes. His fingers, knotted in Buck’s hair and guiding him until he’s taken all of Eddie down his throat. Buck’s birthmark, disappearing and reappearing as Eddie brushes his thumb across it. Watching the way Buck’s eyelashes flutter when he gets too close to the corner of his eye, staring up at Buck, who’s leaning all of his weight on one hand, stroking himself against Eddie’s stomach, staring right back at him and - 

_How did they ever think they’d be able to work as friends with benefits? There’s always been something more between then, right from the start._

There’s always been something more in the way Buck would drop down next to Eddie, careful not to put all of his weight on top of him as he wiped them off with damp washcloths. He’d always pull Eddie into his arms, hold him almost impossibly tight for a few minutes. 

Truly, those moments were the ones that meant the most to Eddie. The sex may have been mind-blowing, but there was something about the way he felt, lying in Buck’s arms, safe and warm and so, so incredibly _loved_ that just couldn’t compare to anything else. 

He relished those moments almost as much as he hated the way they’d end, with Buck letting go and rolling away from him in one fluid motion, pulling his clothes back on and tucking his phone back into his pocket. The shift is usually sudden, like he’s remembered somewhere that he has to be, or perhaps just that he shouldn’t be here. Every time, Eddie knows it’s coming, but it never lessens the sting. 

So he waits for Buck to let him go, then dresses as quickly as he can. He’s always careful to make sure he’s the first one ready to go, never brings a jacket or takes anything out of his pockets before they start. 

That way, he can beat Buck to the door, be the first one to leave. 

Because he wouldn’t have been able to stand watching Buck walk away from him. 

But here, now, sitting on the floor of Buck’s closet, he’s surprised to find himself suddenly looking at the last key card. 

He remembers the hookup vaguely, remembers them all, but time has blurred them in his mind. What really stands out about this one, though, is the ending, the way his stomach rolled when he caught an accidental glimpse of Buck buttoning the fly of his jeans. 

It felt too intimate, too _real,_ even compared to what they’d just been doing. Eddie felt the wave of nausea, and he knew in that moment that it was the last time he and Buck would sleep together like this. 

He wasn’t going to keep doing this, chip away at another piece of his heart week after week, until eventually it cracked under the pressure of wanting what he didn’t have. His clothes were on in record time, his wallet pulled out of the drawer where he’d tossed it after it fell from his pants as he’d removed them. 

If this was it, if this was the last time he was going to see Buck like this, Eddie had one indulgence he’d wanted to grant himself. He waited until his hand was on the doorknob, until he could feel Buck lingering behind him, just on the edges of his personal space, to decide if he’d let himself have it or not. 

_What the hell,_ he’d decided at the last possible second, _it’s not like this is the most we’ve ever done together._

Then he’d let go of the door, turned around and pulled the front of Buck’s T-shirt into his fist. Buck’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t push Eddie away as he stepped closer, pulled himself face-to-face with Buck and kissed him. 

They’ve kissed before, hard and intense and hot, just like this, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never been the only thing they’re doing, never been the single point of focus for them both. But Eddie feels Buck breathing the air right out of his lungs, deeper and more meaningful than any of the moments they’ve shared before this. 

He can’t speak for Buck, but Eddie knows he’s not in this moment as a friend with benefits. 

He’s here as a man in love. 

The reality of it hit him as they pulled away, knowing in the same instant that the moment had to end there. 

Eddie had smoothed the front of Buck’s shirt down, looking for any excuse to keep touching him even a second longer, then stepped back. 

“See you at work,” he’d said, keeping the heartbreak out of his tone by a small miracle. 

Then he’d turned around, opened the door and hoped that the last dregs of adrenaline he’d gotten from kissing Buck would carry him far enough down the hallway. 

He made it two steps, until he heard the door close behind him, before he sagged against the wall and dragged both hands down his face. He’d stared at the ceiling for a moment, wanted to stay there and wallow in his own melancholy for longer, but he didn’t know when Buck would come out of the room, and hadn’t wanted him to see how badly Eddie was hurting. 

So he made himself stand up, support himself and the weight of the world on his shoulders, and walk on shaky legs down to the elevator. As soon as the door slid shut, he was slumped down again, thinking about everything he wanted to do with Buck, everything he wanted them to share. 

The elevator dinged at each floor, and the closer he got to the lobby, the more resolve Eddie built up. 

He couldn’t keep sleeping with Buck, couldn’t let that be enough anymore. But he also didn’t think he could _stop_ sleeping with Buck, go back to the way things were before, not now that he knew how good things were between them. 

So the only other option was for him to buck up (the irony of the phrase not lost on him, even for a second) and do something about his feelings for his best friend. 

Eddie slides the last key into his other hand, wraps the rubber band around them all and sets the stack carefully back into the box. Buck is staring at him again, waiting for a response, but it can’t have been too long that Eddie’s been lost in thought, or he would have said something. 

He meets Buck’s gaze, sees a thousand questions written across his face, and knows he needs to find an answer to at least one of them. So he picks the most obvious, the one with the easiest reply. 

“Yeah, I … I was attached too, Buck. Before we even started.” He echoes Buck’s words as he shifts forward on the carpet, reaches for Buck’s hand and presses it over his own heart. “I kept it all too. Right here.” 

* * *

Eddie reaches over the side of the bed, gropes blindly until his fingers brush the soft pile of T-shirt fabric, then pulls it up to his lap. 

It’s Buck’s shirt, bright blue with a faded band logo across the front, half a size too big for either of them where years of frequent wear have stretched it out. Still, he pulls it over his head without a second thought, watches for Buck to step out of the bathroom. 

He’s lying in another king bed, in another hotel room, with more bland art on the walls. This time, though, he can look out the window and see the Rocky Mountains, the trees in front of them against the bright blue Colorado sky. 

But he’s not looking at that either, not when the bathroom door has just opened and Buck has stepped out, jeans hanging low on his hips. He’s not wearing a shirt, and Eddie takes a long moment to admire the view, the last few drops of water racing down Buck’s torso and catching in the trail of coarse hair under his navel. 

“What do you think it is?” Eddie breaks the silence by nodding at the canvas hanging across from the bed, streaks in different shades of brown and grey running up and down the length of it with orange splotches throughout. 

“Trees, I think.” Buck settles onto the bed, holds his arms out so Eddie can shift to lean against him. He wraps Eddie up in his hold and points to the painting. “It’s very linear. You’re wearing my shirt.” 

He says it like it’s something obvious, a fact of life. The sky is blue, the mountains are majestic, Eddie is wearing his shirt, the painting is trees. Just that simple. 

“You’re wearing my ring.” Eddie reaches up and tangles their fingers together. 

“Huh, so I am.” He wiggles his ring finger against Eddie’s hand and kisses his temple. Eddie pulls their hands into his chest and curls closer to Buck. “And you’re wearing mine.” 

Eddie turns his chin up to kiss him gently, smiles at the way Buck’s eyes light up. 

All at once, Buck lets go of him and rolls away, putting his feet on the floor and bending down to pick up Eddie’s T-shirt. He considers it briefly, then shrugs and puts it on. 

But this time, Eddie knows he doesn’t have a thing to worry about with the way Buck is hurrying to get dressed. He’s not going anywhere, not without Eddie. 

“C’mon, let’s go show them off. It’s almost checkout time, anyway.” He pouts a little bit, sounding slightly reluctant as he continues. “We have to go back to the real world eventually, anyway.” 

And as much as he’d like to stay here, let Buck hold him forever while they look at the mountains and the wall art, Eddie glances at the clock and realizes that Buck is right. They only have 15 minutes until they have to be out of the room. 

The time passes in a frenzy of suitcase packing and making sure nothing gets left behind anywhere. They take a couple of final pictures with the mountain view, then pick up the suitcases and Eddie leads them to the door. 

He stops before he opens it though, drops the duffel from his shoulder and pulls Buck in by the front of his shirt. Buck grins at him, lets his own bag fall to the floor and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, closing the last inches of space between them. 

The kiss is passionate, filled with wordless expressions of all the ways they love each other, but over long before Eddie would like. 

It’s a good thing he gets to spend the rest of his life kissing Buck like this. 

Eddie leans back, knows they really do have to get down to the elevator before too long, but doesn’t let go of Buck’s shirt right away. Instead, he reaches his other hand into his pants pocket and pulls the key card out, keeping it low enough to be out of Buck’s eyeline. As he smooths out the front of the shirt, he reaches around and tucks the key into the back pocket of Buck’s jeans. He pulls his hand back, patting Buck’s ass as he steps away. 

He undoes the security chain on the door and picks his bag up, then turns back to face Buck as he pulls the door open. 

Before he can say anything, Buck steps up closer to him, and Eddie gives into the urge to press another soft kiss to his mouth. When he pulls back this time, Buck holds up the key card and raises an eyebrow quizzically. 

Eddie steps out into the hallway and smiles at him, holding the door open. 

“One more, for your collection.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So. I guess I write smut now. Thoughts?


End file.
